


Pressing Petals

by CoffeeColoredMornings



Series: Hoard of Value [3]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Lee Jihoon | Woozi, Gay Sex, M/M, Nipple Licking, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut, Top Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi, they fuck on flowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:27:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23451697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeColoredMornings/pseuds/CoffeeColoredMornings
Summary: Jihoon loses a drunken bet to Seungcheol and has to get a nipple piercing. Soonyoung pierces Jihoon's nipple and begins to frequent his flower shop where they discuss the symbolism behind each flower while Soonyoung practices sketching them - and occasionally Jihoon's hands. Then, they fuck on top of flowers.**“You okay?”“Yeah, just rubbed against my piercing is all.”Jihoon hears the screeching of metal against the tile as Soonyoung scoots off the barstool he was sitting on. He doesn’t pay the other much attention, too busy looking down his shirt at his bright red nipple. It looks a bit puffy, not infected, just irritated. Which makes sense, all things considered, as Jihoon has done his very best to touch his nipple only when cleaning in.“Do you mind if I look at it?”
Relationships: Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Series: Hoard of Value [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1529099
Comments: 46
Kudos: 456





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1 of 3.
> 
> This was supposed to be simple. Jihoon gets a nipple piercing, so now his nipple is sensitive and Soonyoung teases it and they fuck on top of flowers. But my mind said 'try to get some deep shit in there', so I did...try that is. Probably failed, but at least we have soonhoon fucking on top of flowers.
> 
> \- Coffee

An electric buzz saws into the air. Jihoon is almost jittery enough to convince himself it’s the audible sound of his  _ own _ nervous energy. 

It’s not.

Laid out on a solid black chair is a shirtless man. Jihoon can just see him through the gated partition and into an open back room. Hunched over the shirtless man is another man - bespeckled, untidy black hair falling into his face - a tattoo gun held firmly in his grasp slowly inking art into the shirtless man’s side.

Jihoon looks away before his late lunch ends up on the lacquered cherry wood floors. The tattoo parlor is surprisingly cheery. Evening sunlight spills in through clean windows comprising the front of the shop. The sitting room is home to various mismatched chairs and love-seats - some baroque, some modern, some a little too kitschy for Jihoon’s taste -  all overstuffed. A long desk separates the front room from the back, a wrought iron gate interrupts the desk right in the middle.

Rationally, Jihoon knows that the gate allows people into the back rooms to receive their tattoos and piercings. Right now, all it does is allow him too much of a view of a needle repeatedly piercing someone else’s skin - an unfortunate reminder as to why he’s here.

He leans back in the love-seat he’s sharing with Seungcheol. The bitter scent of ink and disinfectant doing wonders for his roiling stomach.

“You look a little green, Jihoonie,” Seungcheol says, and Jihoon swears he can hear the smirk in his voice. Shit, he can practically  _ taste _ it.

“Shut the fuck up, you brute,” Jihoon says. He’s counting his breaths now: in for four counts, hold for four counts, out for four counts, pause for four counts, and repeat.

Seungcheol chuckles and slouches further into the love-seat. “It’s not my fault you lost our bet.”

And, yeah, that is fair. But, in Jihoon’s defense, he was drunk. Well, they were both drunk. But, at the time, a push-up contest seemed like the best idea in the world. Jihoon had bulked up - gone was the pink-haired, lanky florist. Jihoon had matured, locks now a soft caramel color, had gained muscle and mass.

One could argue Seungcheol also boasts a considerable amount of muscle. But, in Jihoon’s defense, Seungcheol hadn’t been to the gym in a month. Jihoon goes daily. Four bottles of soju in and his odds seemed wonderful.

Equally, wonderful was when Seungcheol’s boyfriend, Mingyu, pitched the idea that the loser had to get a piercing of the winner’s choice; he even volunteered to give them a discount at the shop he worked at.

It was all wonderful until Jihoon’s arms gave out just short of two-hundred push-ups, and Seungcheol being the bastard that he is, eked out just one more than Jihoon.

“You’re still a stupid fucking meathead,” Jihoon grumbles, shoving at Seungcheol where he’s slumped on the younger’s shoulder.

“Aww, Jihoonie,” Seungcheol coos. He nuzzles further into Jihoon’s space, then delivers a sharp pinch to his right nipple.

Jihoon yelps. It’s not a  _ manly _ yelp, not by any means, nor is the frustrated whine Jihoon gives when he punches Seungcheol in the soft planes of his stomach. But, then again, Seungcheol’s answering whine to Jihoon’s punch is not  _ manly  _ either, and Jihoon can live with that.

“I leave you two alone for five minutes and you’re fighting like little kids,” Mingyu says. He’s smiling though, and he props open the wrought iron gate splitting the front room from the back room.

Jihoon fidgets and ignores Seungcheol’s whimper of ‘he started it’. He stares through the open gate. It’s funny how a flimsy barrier like a gate can give the illusion of safety, of exclusion, of separation between  _ this _ side and  _ that  _ side. But that’s all it is - an illusion; gates are easily open and walls are easily torn down.

Now, Jihoon is left staring into  _ that _ side, which is really  _ this _ side, or  _ no side _ because the gate is open and he can now see the small minute twitch of muscles from the man lying on the black bed and a needle repeatedly striking in and out of his skin.

Fingers snap in his face and Jihoon jerks to see Seungcheol staring at him with a thick eyebrow raised. “You good?” He asks.

A firm ‘no’ is on the back of Jihoon’s tongue, but instead a choked noise wheezes out of his throat and he bobs his head in a hesitant nod.

“Good,” Mingyu chirps from his place by the gate and gestures for them to follow him to the back room.

Jihoon’s legs feel wooden as he follows Mingyu past the gate and further into the parlor. He tries to use Seungcheol as a shield to block his sight of the man receiving a tattoo, tries to focus on the pull of Mingyu’s thin t-shirt across his shoulder blades rather than the incessant sound of the ink gun.

Mingyu guides them down a long hallway and ducks into a small, private room. A pent up breath shudders from Jihoon’s lungs; the buzzing of the ink gun doesn’t quite reach this far, nor does the bitter scent of ink. 

For a quick moment, Jihoon wishes he was ensconced in the warmth of his own shop. The evening sun hitting off the colorful displays of perky marigolds, delicate iris, and vibrant lilies; the rich scent of sweet honeysuckle and freesia, somber jasmine and sweet pea.

Instead, he’s here: trapped in a small room with too much black, the sharp scent of antiseptic with undertones of bleach, and too bright florescent lights glinting off wicked metal.

Jihoon startles as Mingyu places a soft hand on his shoulder. “Sit on the bed, hyung.”

Jihoon jumps on the bed, the smooth faux-leather crinkling under his weight; his feet miss the ground by a good dozen inches.

“Go ahead and remove your shirt,” Mingyu says.

“Why?” Jihoon asks numbly, eyes fixed on the sharp needle Mingyu is fidgeting with.

“So you can get your nipple pierced, dumbass,” Seungcheol says, voice carrying too much giddy excitement for Jihoon’s liking. 

If Jihoon was anywhere else but here, he would have parried Seungcheol’s statement, would have thrown a well-placed blow to a sensitive bit of Seungcheol - his gut, upper thighs, lower back, his ego.

But Jihoon is here, in this tattoo parlor watching Mingyu’s deft fingers prep his fate.

So, with a distracted hum, Jihoon slides his thread-bare, yellow sweater off. The cold of the shop’s A/C is like an afterthought in Jihoon’s mind, only manifesting in the ripple of goosebumps across his skin and the hardening of his dusky nipples. Even with the interruption of the removal of his shirt, his focus is still fixed on Mingyu ministrations - specifically on the cold metal of a sharp needle and the small metal barbell sitting innocently by its side.

“Jihoon, you okay?” The warm weight of Sunegcheol’s hand bleeds through Jihoon’s jeans and onto his thigh. “Look, if you really can’t do this, we don’t have to.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” As if to prove his point, Jihoon gives a rough shake of his head, squeezing his eyes shut to jog his mind onto a different track of thought, one not preoccupied with needles. “Just not the biggest fan of needles.”

“Which is why this is a punishment,” Mingyu says. He has a cruel smirk on his lips, but his tone is soft, some care for his hyung buried in the statement. “Seungcheol’s right though, if you’re really not up for it, let us know. We don’t have to go through with this.”

“I’m fine. I can do this.”  _ I  _ **_am_ ** _ fine, I  _ **_can_ ** _ do this. _ The mantra feels a bit paltry, even in the confines of his own mind. But Jihoon keeps at it, determined to repeat the words until they feel like the truth.

“Well, then, that’s good. I’ve got an appointment now, so Soonyoung will be in soon to give you the piercing,” Mingyu says. 

“Wait, what?” Jihoon gapes. All thoughts of encouraging mantras derail at the news that Mingyu - his dear, lovable dongsaeng, Mingyu - won’t be the one to give him his piercing. His  _ nipple _ piercing. On his _ nipple _ .

Mingyu drops his fiddling with the needle and takes advantage of Jihoon’s shocked gaping. He pops a loud peck on Jihoon’s check, then swoops to place a longer kiss on Seungcheol’s lips before hustling out of the open doorway.

“S-Seungcheol, Seungcheol,” Jihoon croaks.

“You’re fine, Hoonie,” Seungcheol soothes. “I’ve met Soonyoung before, he’s a good guy. And Mingyu wouldn’t let just anyone pierce you. You’re okay.”

Jihoon takes a deep breath, then lets it hiss out slowly through clenched teeth. “Right, cool, of course.”

_ Right, cool, of course _ , turns into Jihoon’s new mantra. He rubs the soft cotton of his sweater between two fingers, focuses on the textured zing that develops on his skin.

Jihoon is on his seventeenth round of ‘ _ Right, cool, of course _ ’ when a cheery voice pops in: “Jihoon-ssi?”

He turns slowly and spots a man standing in the doorway. The man’s wide, broad-toothed smile is the first thing Jihoon clocks, that and the scrunching of round cheeks. His smile pushes his eyes into happy, horizontal slits. Like the hands of a clock, Jihoon thinks.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Jihoon says. His voice is a bit strained, but it’s strong enough to carry throughout the room. “Soonyoung-ssi?”

“Yup!” Somehow, Soonyoung’s smile grows even more. “You’re getting a nipple piercing, right?” Soonyoung asks as he walks into the room.

Jihoon doesn’t think before he speaks, just spits out the first thing that comes to mind. “I am sitting here with my shirt off, so, yeah.” His tone has more bite to it than he intends, more than he would put into it with a stranger. A stranger who is in charge of piercing his nipple.

Soonyoung pauses midstep, his smile slips and he cocks his head to the side. Jihoon freezes, caught in Soonyoung’s gaze, dark brown eyes too discerning as he flickers over Jihoon’s form.

Jihoon can only imagine what he sees - it’s what everyone sees when they look at him: soft features painting him in too youthful an image, pink lips pinched into a thin line, pale skin, and  _ short _ . He is acutely aware of the distance between the ground and the bottom of his feet.

Before Jihoon can entertain the idea of covering his exposed chest with his shirt, Soonyoung’s smile splits across his lips again. “You never know, you could just be a weirdo who snuck in here again.”

Jihoon shoots a quick glance at Seungcheol, brows raised at the ‘again’ part of the sentence. Seungcheol shrugs with a wry smile and pats his knee in a quick effort to comfort the younger man.

“Anyways, it’s nice to meet you Jihoon-ssi, and good to see you again Seungcheol hyung.”

“Good to see you too, Soonyoung,” Seungcheol replies, charming smile in place. “It’s been a while.”

“For you,” Soonyoung snorts, hands busy soaking a cotton ball in an antibacterial cleanser. “Mingyu doesn’t shut up about you. I feel like I know too much about you hyung,  _ too much _ .”

Seungcheol has the grace to blush and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, “Yeah, I can talk to him about that.”

“No worries, hyung,” Soonyoung laughs, “it always keeps things lively, and it’s good to know you’re that flexible.”

Seungcheol chokes on his spit and Jihoon knows his own grin has reached shit-eating proportions. “Flexible, huh?”

“Shut up,” Seungcheol groans, slumping further against the wall.

“Okay, Jihoon-ssi, which nipple are we piercing?”

“Right.”

“Right nipple, and horizontal, correct?”

“Yeah,” Jihoon says, voice scratching against the confines of his throat. He thinks about asking for a cup of water, or some fresh air, maybe a quick pep talk. Anything to beat down the bubbling of apprehension that’s cloying thickly in his lungs.

“Right, horizontal - gotcha,” Soonyoung says. He offers a small squeeze to Jihoon’s shoulder and Jihoon leans into the touch, focusing on the pressure of Soonyoung’s grip. “Okay, Jihoon-ssi, I’m just going to give you a quick rundown of how this will go: I’m going to run a disinfectant wipe over your right nipple, mark out the planned placement for the piercing, and if it looks good, we’ll go ahead and pierce your nipple. Sounds good?”

At Jihoon’s nod, Soonyoung steps forward and runs the disinfectant soaked cotton ball over his right nipple. Jihoon tries to hold back his shiver at the cold, wet press of the cotton, the warm brush of Soonyoung breath against the base of his throat.

As quickly as those sensations are there, they’re gone. Soonyoung steps back to throw the cotton ball away, and Jihoon allows a quick shiver to ripple down his spine.

Soonyoung returns, a small marker in hand. “Can you lean back a bit, Jihoon-ssi? Just so I can have a clearer sight for marking out the piercing.”

Jihoon acquiesces, falling back to lean against his hands. His legs part slightly, without forethought and Soonyoung his slipping between them before he can think of closing them.

Soonyoung’s hand is warm where it presses into his side, cupping Jihoon’s ribs and steadying his own hand as he marks quick dots on Jihoon’s nipple. Their proximity allows Jihoon a close-up view. Soonyoung’s choppy black hair hangs into his kohl-rimmed eyes, numerous piercings gleam on his ear - from thin, dangly lobe piercings, to ornate cuffs curling up the shells of each ear.

He steps back to judge his markings and bites into his lower lip, the thin metal ring looped through the bottom left corner of his plush lower lip catches the light and Jihoon’s attention.

Jihoon is not an idiot - at least, he doesn’t generally consider himself to be one. And, anyone with a modicum of taste can see that Soonyoung is attractive. He’s tall - not quite Mingyu tall, perhaps closer to Seungcheol tall - with a good build: on the slimmer side, but with defined muscles, broad shoulders, and wide chest, and thick thighs (and  _ so what _ if Jihoon entertains the fleeting idea of sitting on those thighs, of grinding against the clear definition of muscle - he’s only human, with basic human desires).

Suffice to say, Soonyoung is attractive, and Jihoon is grudgingly attracted to him. Grudgingly only because Jihoon fears admitting complete attraction may lead down a path of too vivid fantasies. The last thing he needs is ill-timed squirming while getting his nipple pierced.

“Okay, Jihoon-ssi, I think this is okay, but why don’t you take a quick look in the mirror and see if you like the placement?” Soonyoung says, offering a large hand-held mirror for Jihoon to use.

“Uhh, yeah, sure. Thanks,” Jihoon grunts, breaking away from admiring Soonyoung and takes the mirror. He checks the placement of the dots - a dark purple against the dusky rose of his peaked nipple. He’s not completely sure what he’s supposed to be looking for, but the dots are well centered and Jihoon supposes that’s good enough.

“Looks good.”

“You sure?”

Jihoon nods, not quite seeing the point of verbalizing his agreement. He’s as sure as he ever will be when it comes to his  _ nipple _ piercing.

“Aha, that’s good!” Soonyoung’s smile doesn’t slip, even as he takes the mirror from Jihoon and start to prep the needle and the piercing. “Go ahead and lay back on the bed, Jihoon-ssi.”

Jihoon lays down, grip tight on his sweater. He exhales, his breath pushing out like the sharp edges of his pruning shears.

“So Jihoon-ssi, what do you do for a living?” Soonyoung says from off to the side.

Jihoon recognizes the question for what it is - a diversion. He jumps on it, either way, anything to distract him from what he knows is coming.

“I’m a florist.”

“Really?” Soonyoung’s tone pitches up with what Jihoon thinks is a genuine hint of curiosity.

“Yeah, Hoonie owns the flower shop just a block over, facing out on Daehak-ro,” Seungcheol pipes up from his spot in the corner. “Not sure if you pass that way or not, but it’s a good location.”

“You own that shop?” Soonyoung asks, and this time, Jihoon is sure he’s picking up on a tone of surprise.

“Yeah, I own Today’s Flowers.”

Soonyoung pops back into Jihoon’s line of sight, his eyes sparkling just so, before they slit into thin lines of joy. “I pass that shop every day on my way to work. I even bought my mom flowers from there a couple of times: daylilies for Mother’s Day and pink roses and yellow tulips for her birthday. She loved them, even managed to plant them in her garden - said she never had flowers take to the ground quicker than yours did.”

Jihoon can’t help the wide smile that spreads across his lips, full of brilliant teeth and dimples, nor the swelling of gracious pride in his chest. There are few things that Jihoon is truly proud of, but his small shop and his flowers are nearly at the top of his list.

“Thank you,” Jihoon says, his voice soft with gratitude. “That - that really means a lot to me.”

“Of course,” Soonyoung says, blinding smile in place. “You deserve to hear the praise. Now, are you ready for your piercing?”

Jihoon means to say yes, means to have unwavering conviction in his voice. Instead, he whimpers out a breathy ‘not really’ and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Soonyoung coos.

He must lean down further, Jihoon can feel the warmth of his breath on his bare skin, the fresh scent of mint on his breath.

Jihoon takes a deep breath and cracks his eyes open. Soonyoung is leaning over him, dark brown eyes gentle, face relaxed into a welcoming smile. “There you are,” Soonyoung murmurs, voice tender. “Don’t worry, we’re not going to start until your ready, and I will talk you through this, okay? Just focus on me. Can you do that?”

Jihoon nods, struck voiceless. His chest feels tight with fear and the bloomings of a small crush. Soonyoung is too gorgeous and generous to be real and Jihoon focuses on his soothing words, takes deep breaths in and out as instructed, allows his eyes to wander over silver piercings, over vibrant art inked into honeyed skin -- two full sleeves of traditional tattoos and a traditional style tiger clawing up the skin of Soonyoung’s neck.

“You’re doing so well, Ji,” Soonyoung says, and no one comments on the dropped formality or the sudden nickname. “Just keep breathing, I’m going to position myself and you tell me when you’re ready.” Soonyoung dips down closer, close enough that Jihoon can feel the heat of his skin, can smell the spicy scent of pine and soap. But he doesn’t touch Jihoon, just holds ready.

Taking two deep breaths, Jihoon shores up his resolve and nods. “I’m ready.”

“Good,” Soonyoung says, voice just a grating murmur against Jihoon’s ear. “Now take two deep breaths in and out. On the second exhale, I’m going to pierce you. I just need you to keep breathing through it, okay? The piercing will feel tight, like a quick-burning pinch, but just breathe and focus on me.”

Jihoon nods. He takes a deep breath in, feels the nudge of his chest against Soonyoung’s arm, a quick pressing of skin; then, he lets the breath out, focusing on the decompression of his ribs.

“And in,” Soonyoung prompts, eyes flickering upwards for just a moment, just to hold Jihoon’s gaze. “And out.”

Jihoon breathes out, focusing on the concentrated lines of Soonyoung's face. His breath stutters when he feels the sharp pinch of the needle going into his nipple. He knows enough not to jerk at the burning pressure, but he can’t help letting his fall back against the bed, a sharp hiss of discomfort breaking past his lips.

“You’re doing so well, Ji,” Soonyoung says, “we’re almost done.”

“Keep talking,” Jihoon groans, “please.”

“Of course, anything you want. You’re doing so well, it looks so pretty, so good, Ji. Almost done.”

Jihoon zones in on Soonyoung’s praises, soaks up the brush of hot air against his skin, a wonderful juxtaposition from the cold of the needle and the metal barbell.

“There, all done,” Soonyoung says, pulling back with a satisfied grin.

The cold of the room pools into the space that Soonyoung vacated and Jihoon shivers, wanting Soonyoung back over him, shielding him from the press of chilly air.

Soonyoung must notice his shiver. He offers a slight smirk at the smaller man’s action, but says nothing.

“Go ahead and sit up, Jihoon,” Soonyoung instructs, his light touch shifting to grip and guide Jihoon into a sitting position. “You may feel a bit of throbbing around the piercing and your nipple may feel a bit warm, but that’s perfectly normal.”

Jihoon most certainly feels a bit of throbbing and heat, but it’s not necessarily centered around his nipple. He swallows thickly and fidgets in place as Soonyoung turns to get the hand-held mirror for Jihoon to view the piercing.

He can feel the sharp gaze of Seungcheol boring into the side of his head, but he refuses to look. He refuses to pay attention to anything but controlling his breathing and willing his body into a calmer state, one less attuned to the warmth of the tattooed man next to him.

Soonyoung gives him the mirror, and Jihoon takes the time to look at his new piercing. He has to admit that it looks nice. The barbell is centered well, it glints brightly - never failing to catch the light as Jihoon moves and twists - and looks, well,  _ pretty _ set against the dark flush of his nipple and the pale expanse of his skin.

“What do you think?” Soonyoung asks after a moment of Jihoon moving the mirror around to catch the piercing at different angles.

“I love it. It looks really good, better than I expected.” Jihoon looks up just in time to see Soonyoung’s smile grow across his face. 

Jihoon can’t help smiling in return as he hands the mirror back to Soonyoung. He’s never known someone who smiles with their whole face, but Soonyoung does; his mirth spread from his plush lips to his apple cheeks, to the sharp slants of his eyes.

“Beautiful,” Jihoon breathes.

“Thank you! I’m glad you like it. Now, we do have printed instructions on cleaning and healing time, but I just want to take you through them quickly and any warning signs of too much swelling or infection - in which case, you may want to come and see us for the former or a doctor for the latter.”

Jihoon knows he should pay attention to what Soonyoung’s saying, knows it’s important information on how to clean and maintain a healthy piercing. But he’s stuck on the curve of Soonyoung’s lips as they form words, on the glimmer of his lip piercing.

“...and if that happens, then you _ really _ need to see a doctor asap. Got it?”

Jihoon jerks at the sharp dig of Seungcheol’s elbow in his side. He shoots the older man a wide-eyed gaze because he most certainly doesn’t  _ have it _ .

Seungcheol’s answering gaze is a bit smug and a lot amused, but he turns to Soonyoung with a polite smile and accepts the printed instructions on Jihoon’s behalf. “Sounds good, Soonyoung. Thank you for your assistance and hard work today. I’m sure Jihoon’s got a handle on it, but he can always swing by if he has any questions.”

“Of course,” Soonyoung agrees, moving his warm gaze to Jihoon. “You’re always welcome to swing by or give us a call if you have any questions.”

“Right, thanks,” Jihoon says awkwardly. Although, perhaps curtly is a better descriptor if the dropping of Soonyoung’s smile is any indication.

Jihoon mentally wants to hit himself, because of course, he can’t just be welcoming and friendly when speaking to the man who just pierced his nipple. It is, undoubtedly, too much to ask for to be natural when it comes to basic human interaction.

Granted, Jihoon’s natural state is reserved mixed with a dash of awkwardness and a hint of sarcasm for spice. It is yet another reason why his friend group is so small and he prefers the company of his flowers to that of most humans.

He tries for a smile - it feels too stretched on his lips - mutters one last thank you and heads for the door.

“Uh, Jihoon,” Soonyoung’s voice stops him just at the threshold. Jihoon turns halfway and cocks a quizzical brow. Soonyoung points to the bed. “Don’t forget your sweater.”

* * *

It’s only after Jihoon has settled into the passenger seat of Seungcheol’s car that the elder says anything.

“So, when are you planning on getting the left one done?”

Jihoon’s trying to keep the seatbelt from brushing against his new piercing, trying to ignore how his nipple throbs with a tight pressure to the steady beat of his heart. He pauses his fidgeting, squinting at burnt orange sunlight flooding the narrow street. “What? I’m no-,” he cuts himself off as he catches Seungcheol’s impish smirk from the corners of his eyes. “You smug prick.”

“No, really, Jihoonie, I’m honestly thinking of getting mine done. You made the whole experience look so... _ good _ .” There is a deliberate emphasis on the last word, something Seungcheol brings up from the depth of his chest. It makes Jihoon squirm - not in the same way it’d make Mingyu squirm had he heard Seungcheol’s tone - more so in mild mortification than moderate arousal.

“Get your dick pierced, you bastard,” Jihoon grunts.

Seungcheol laughs out loud, a sharp staccato of boisterous sound. “Who knows, maybe that’ll be the next thing we bet upon? Think your pain tolerance can withstand it?”

“Oi, fuck you, who says I’ll lose?”

“Life lesson number one Jihoonie, you’ll always lose to hyung. Plus, you seemed to really enjoy this one. You think Soonyoung will be up for piercing your dick?”

Jihoon chokes on his next swallow, his breath sticking in his lungs at the thought of Soonyoung piercing his dick. His stomach is a weird mix of roiling nausea and low burning arousal at the idea. He likes the idea of Soonyoung touching his dick -- the involvement of a needle or piercing, not so much.

He slouches against this seat, hoping the leather will miraculously absorb him so he can escape this conversation, and barely swallows a whimper when the fabric of his sweater rustles against his piercing. His nipple gives a hot throb and Jihoon fidgets again, trying to escape the rub of fabric over his sensitive skin.

“You okay? You’re fidgeting over there. I really didn’t peg you for such a masochist.” Seungcheol’s voice is steeped in self-satisfied amusement.

“Fuck you, Cheol. Just brushed against the piercing, and it feels weird.”

“Oh, a bit sensitive, is it? Maybe you should call Soonyoung; I’m sure he has some advice on how to deal with the new sensitivity - maybe he could even show you a trick or two.”

Jihoon doesn’t answer for a good few seconds, simply stares out the window, directly into the sinking sun. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“No. Never.”

Jihoon groans. “Fuck you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/CaratCoffee)   
>  [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/blackcatbaby)   
> 


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is long overdue. I've decided to split this fic up into three parts rather than two because we're near 10,000 words and counting. Thank you for everyone who has supported this fic, I truly appreciate everyone's patience and kind words~! <3
> 
> I hope part two does not disappoint and I hope to get part three out soon~!
> 
> \- Coffee

Jihoon stares at the arrangement of irises and orchids before him with a critical eye. There’s something missing to the current bouquet; the arrangement feels too insubstantial, too wispy like a late morning fog still trying to cling to the ground despite the sun.

He pauses, eyes flitting over his brightening shop. Diluted light washes into the front room of his shop, spilling in slitted swathes of pale yellow. He’d come in early, too early — before the dawn early. But it’s fine. It’s habit or ritual, a thoroughness in his composition that mandates late nights with fingers wrapped in wire and early mornings of shears and scissors and small pricks on his fingertips.

It’s not unusual, not for him, to find more solitude in the soft press of petals and careful arrangement of colors and textures of stalk and stem than in the quiet of his room and the comfort of his bed.

Yellow. He needs yellow and not the buttery yellow of the spilling sunlight, but the crisp yellow of his calla lilies. They’re on display in the far left corner of his shop, near the front door on a low long table of pitted wood. 

Some may say they’re tucked away, a bit hidden since they’re not given the prize of a center display. Jihoon thinks otherwise. Calla lilies are loud, vibrant like a highlighter but deeper in color — stark, but warm. They’re deceptively delicate, small bells with curved lips. They’re strong and gracious. They’re just what Jihoon needs.

Slowly sliding from behind his work desk, Jihoon walks across the open showroom to unlock the front door, flipping a small, cheery sign to display  **OPEN** to the street.

He swings to the corner display and plucks a handful of calla lilies, tall with rigid stalks. On autopilot, he meanders to the backroom of his store. It’s a cozy space, small windows currently covered with soft curtains. A large metal work table takes up the far back wall and there are rows upon rows of shelves stocked with heartier plants and greenery. Letting his fingers bump over delicate leaves, Jihoon pulls a few greenery plants for the bouquet: leatherleaf fern, gyp, and after a small moment of debate a bundle of feverfew. 

The faint chiming of the front door bells echoes back to Jihoon. Cutting his losses, he grabs both plants, fingers lightly tracing the jagged-edged leaves of the leatherleaf fern. 

"Good morning," Jihoon chirps, hoping his voice carries to the front room. "Welcome to Today's Flowers, sorry to keep you wa — "

The catch in his voice is accidental. He clutches his armful of flowers closer to his chest as a reflex, holding back the slight wince as they brush against his healing piercing. Jihoon's eyes slowly roam over the smiling visage of Soonyoung. It's an odd dichotomy — the broad smile and scrunched cheeks paired with the silver piercings and colorful flashes of tattoos.

"Good morning, Jihoon-ssi!" Soonyoung says. He steps closer to the front desk and the morning sun plays off his black hair, damp with what Jihoon assumes is sweat if his jogger bottoms and equally damp t-shirt are anything to go by.

"Soonyoung-ssi," Jihoon says slowly, feeling around the vowels and smooth consonants of the other man's name. He walks to the front desk and places his armful of flowers down next to his half-done arrangement. "How are you?"

The question feels stiff on his tongue. He's not sure the proper etiquette in greeting a friend-of-a-friend-not-quite-stranger-but-he's-seen-me-shirtless-and-touched-my-nipple, but ‘how are you' seems safe.

If Soonyoung senses any awkwardness in the question or Jihoon's minute fidgeting, he doesn't show it. "I'm good! How are you doing? Is that a new arrangement you're working on? Looks," Soonyoung pauses, head cocked, and eyes the haphazard splay of flowers and greenery, "pretty."

Jihoon can't hold back a snort at the drop in Soonyoung's tone on the last word. "It looks like a hot mess because it is a hot mess. You can say it."

"No, no. It looks, you know...the colors are nice and the shapes of the plants — flowers — they're nice. Very geometric."

"Geometric." Jihoon squints at Soonyoung, mouth twisted in a wry smile as the other man squirms a bit under his gaze.

Soonyoung nods and Jihoon can't tell if the flush on his cheeks is new or remaining evidence of his recent exertion (barring the recent mental exercise in complementing the mess of flora covering Jihoon's workspace). Either way, Jihoon likes the squirming and the blush, likes that they may be a result of him. His fingers crest the downward curve of an iris and he hopes they’re a result of him, of Soonyoung being  _ affected _ by him. 

"Yep and the colors," Soonyoungs gestures to the clump of flowers, serrated rows of deep indigo, pale blues and whites, and warm yellow.

"Right. The colors."

Silence falls between them, sudden and still. Jihoon fidgets with the smooth stalks of the calla lilies, trying to keep his hands busy and eyes firmly fixed on anything that's not Soonyoung backlit by the hazy morning light, skin glowing with a healthy honey-hue and sweat beading on his hairline.

Checkered tiles gleam under the sun. Jihoon has always hated the tile, would prefer smooth concrete with small specks of quartz, but he likes the tile now only because he can stare at it, counting the alternating black and white squares.

Soonyoung rocks on the balls of his feet, a small smile in place as he stares at Jihoon trying not to stare at him.

“So, why are you here?” Jihoon finally blurts out. There’s only so many times he can trace the mini flowers on the feverfew and count the dizzying spread of checkered tiles before things get awkward.

“Oh.” Soonyoung tenses, a subtle tightening of muscles beneath skin before they release and he shuffles even closer to the desk, pressing his waist firmly against the wooden sides panels. He’s close enough that Jihoon can spot moisture pooling along Soonyoung’s collarbones, sees the reflecting glint of color from the flowers on his workspace in the small metal piercing looped through Soonyoung’s chapped lower lip. “I was just out for a morning jog and saw the open sign, so I figured I’d stop by and see how you’re doing.” He smiles sheepishly and runs his hands through his hair, wet strands sticking up in all directions. It should look stupid, and it does, but Jihoon thinks there’s also something endearing in the nonchalance of Soonyoung’s gesture, in his ease in letting his hair flop as it likes. “I’ve also been meaning to pick up some flowers, so, you know, why not now?”

Jihoon nods and tries to ignore the heavy feeling slowly weighing down his stomach. He shouldn’t be disappointed, he has no right to be disappointed, but can’t help the way his shoulders slump a bit, hands listlessly holding onto a clump of feverfew.

“Of course,” he says because of course there is someone in Soonyoung’s life, someone worth buying flowers for. “Is this for an anniversary or a date? How long have you two been together?”

“Sorry, what?”

“The flowers that you want to buy,” Jihoon says as if explaining everything. It doesn’t, at least if the scrunched confusion of Soonyoung’s expression is to go by. “I — you...aren’t you buying flowers for a date or something?”

The confusion melts into an easy smile. Warm but soft, just like the morning sun. “No, no. I don’t have a date or anything like that.”

Jihoon tries not to read too far into the ‘ _ anything like that _ ’. He hums instead, a small throaty noise. “So, why are you buying flowers on a random Tuesday morning?”

“To study them. I get asked to tattoo flowers a lot, but there’s only so many roses I can draw before I want to try something different, something less contrived.”

“Oh,” Jihoon says because  _ oh _ , and then, “so you don’t have a girlfriend?”

“No.” Soonyoung’s smile is patient, still warm. “I don’t have a boyfriend either.”

“Right. Right. So, flowers...for drawing — for tattoos.”

“Yep.”

“Anything specific in mind?”

“Not really. I know flowers are heavy in symbolism, so I was kinda hoping to start there. You know, give a purpose to the flower in the art.”

“Do they always have to have a purpose though?”

Soonyoung pauses, cocking his head to the side. His eyes sharpen and regard Jihoon with a tangible weight. “No, not always.” He skims his finger over a small gyp bud. “Sometimes art can just be something beautiful, something that even without a purpose, or a purpose you don’t understand, brings you joy.”

“Or it just makes you feel. Art doesn’t always have to make you happy,” Jihoon says. Soonyoung’s lips twitch into a smirk and his eyes trace over Jihoon’s face, down his neck to the low V of his shirt before flickering back, lightning-quick, to meet his eyes.

“Then please give me some flowers that will make me feel, purpose or no. Though,” Soonyoung pauses, he hand skips over the feverfew to the leatherleaf fern, skimming against Jihoon’s hand, “if they do have a purpose or meaning, I’d like to know.”

“You assume I know the symbolism behind these flowers.”

“Do you?”

“I may have read a book or two.” Which is true, but an understated truth. Jihoon’s whole library at home, modest as it is, is chock-full of books on floral symbolism and various uses for plants and flowers; over half of his bookmarks on his laptop are dedicated to the symbolism of flowers. 

Jihoon carefully arranges the basket with small samples of irises and orchids — “They’re on hand”, Jihoon explains — and snowdrops, puschkinias, hyacinths, fritillarias, and tulips. When he’s done, he slides the basket to Soonyoung.

“How much do I owe you?” Soonyoung asks; he’s already pulling his wallet from a side pocket.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Jihoon,” Soonyoung says, dropping the polite formality as he levels him a warning look. “How much do I owe you?”

“I said don’t worry about it. It’s only a couple stalks of each.”

“Even so, I can’t take these for free.” Soonyoung still has his wallet out. “Please, let me pay you.”

Jihoon laughs a jerky sound. Soonyoung is staring imploringly at him, lips in a small moue but eyes determined. “Why are you so adamant about paying me?”

“I have to show my appreciation to my favorite florist,” Soonyoung sing-songs, eyes crescenting into smiles. “Plus, this is your business. You can’t just give your stock away for free.”

“But I can.”

“But I won’t let you,” Soonyoung shoves a card towards Jihoon. “It’s fiscally irresponsible, Jihoonie.”

Jihoon takes the card and pulls out an iPad, carefully tallying the total. “21,000 won.” Jihoon turns the iPad towards Soonyoung, so he can sign off on the total.

“Do you need the receipt?”

“No, thank you.”

Jihoon taps out of the screen and sets the iPad aside. “Do you intend to keep buying more flowers to study?”

“I’d like to, yes.”

Jihoon nods, absorbing the thought. “That can get expensive, depending on the flowers.”

“Ah, well,” Soonyoung mumbles, ruffling the back of his hair. “I’ll manage. It’s good for you, right?”

Snorting, Jihoon leans his weight against his forearms on the top of the work station. “I like having business, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t feel comfortable draining your wallet dry so you can study flowers.”

Soonyoung pauses in picking up the basket of flowers; he looks down at Jihoon looking up at him and something soft swirls in his eyes, something tender. Jihoon flickers his eyes away. He waits for Soonyoung to shuffle the handle of the basket into the crook of his arm before speaking. “I’m closed on Sundays.”

“Sundays?”

“Yeah, Sundays.” Jihoon stands up, tired of craning his neck to meet Soonyoung’s eyes. “You can swing by then, you know, to study flowers.”

“Really?” Soonyoung says slowly, he regards Jihoon’s with keen eyes, a small smile tugging the corners of his lips.

There’s a sudden urge tingling along the nerves in Jihoon’s hand to push back Soonyoung’s choppy bangs so he can have a clearer view of Soonyoung’s brown eyes. Maybe the emotion glinting in them will make more sense, maybe what Jihoon perceives as the warmth will really be the shadow of damp hair in the sun. He wants to blame the urge on the early morning sunlight, the long-gone cold, a half-finished cup of coffee sitting in his backroom, the fact that it’s a Tuesday. “Yeah,” he says instead, leaning further back. “You can stop by and stay as long as you want. It’s better than shelling out money every time you want to draw or learn about the flowers.”

“And this is fine with you?”

“I usually do some things in the back room, so I’m here, just not open. And if I ever have an issue with it, I’ll tell you.”

Nodding, Soonyoung shuffles through his pocket once more before sliding his phone across the workspace to Jihoon. “Give me your number.”

Jihoon does, fingers flicking over the cracked screen before he hands the phone back to Soonyoung. Their fingers don’t brush and Jihoon pretends he’s not acutely aware of this fact.

“Next Sunday. I’ll text you,” Soonyoung says. He leaves Jihoon’s shop with a sample of flowers layered in a small blue basket and Jihoon’s phone number saved in his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/CaratCoffee)   
>  [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/blackcatbaby)   
> 


	3. Part Three

Four Sundays pass; Soonyoung visits three out of the four, Jihoon having cancelled their meeting last week due to a fresh delivery of flowers. As much as Jihoon has grown to enjoy Soonyoung’s presence, trying to unload and organize a delivery of flowers and field Soonyoung’s endless questions—especially when he encounters a flower he’s never seen before, which happens more often than not—is not Jihoon’s idea of a relaxing or efficient day.

This Sunday, there is a large wreath sitting on the work desk in the front of the shop. It’s complete and Jihoon’s fingertips still ache from cutting and bending green florist wire for the better part of the morning. Sundays may be his day off, but Jihoon usually finds himself in his shop for at least some measure of time and with Soonyoung’s recent visits, those measures of time have increased.

Today is a bit different. Soonyoung is at the shop, so naturally, Jihoon is too. But where Jihoon is usually content to putter around, pruning and maintaining flowers and taking fallen petals to dry out and press in his backroom, today he is actually working.

The request was a bit last minute, but in his three years of business, Jihoon finds these requests usually are. After all, it’s not as if everyone can predict death.

He’s working on the last bit of the order, small potted arrangements to go on the deceased’s grave; a larger arrangement is sitting in one of the fridge’s in the back room, waiting to eventually be placed atop a coffin. Digging a small well in shallow soil, he pushes in another pansy. The dark burgundy of the flower stands out somberly amongst the muted greenery.

“What do those mean?” Soonyoung asks from his spot across the room. He’s splayed across the floor, body leaning on a low table and sketch pad wedged on the corner of a display of hellebore.

“Remembrance.”

“Good remembrance?”

Jihoon pauses to look at Soonyoung. Soonyoung looks back, a small smile on his lips. 

“I suppose so,” Jihoon says. He grabs another small pot, a muted earthenware craft, and begins scoping small amounts of soil into the bottom. “I’m sure not everything that’s remembered is good, but pansies usually express grief over a loved one’s passing.”

“Do the flowers on the wreath have the same meaning?”

“No. They just match the color scheme the client wanted, plus the deceased really liked azaleas.”

“Maybe they’ll have a rich afterlife.”

Jihoon pauses, fingers deep in the soil. “You’ve been reading,” he says, nudging a thin stalk into the well he’s made.

“I have. Thank you for letting me borrow some books, by the way.”

A small smile curls at Jihoon’s lips and he ducks his head further down into his work.

“I haven’t come across these though,” Soonyoung says. Jihoon looks up to see Soonyoung nudging a nearby bloom with the eraser of his pencil.

“They’re hellebore.”

“Hellebore?” Soonyoung looks back, lower lip caught between his teeth, the glint of his piercing barely visible. “Sounds a bit daunting.”

Jihoon shrugs and looks back down at his work. “They are, I guess. I’ve seen a lot of meanings attributed to them, good and bad, the same goes for their usage in history.”

“But you still keep them, even though they don’t have a happy meaning.”

“People still buy them.”

“And not all flowers need happy meanings, right?”

Jihoon can’t stop the light snorting laugh as he looks back up at Soonyoung. The black-haired man has all but abandoned his sketch pad, he’s dark brown eyes fixed on Jihoon. 

At the sight of Jihoon’s smile, Soonyoung’s own widens, plush lips pulling back to show off more teeth. His eyes all but disappear as he beams when Jihoon utters curt, but fond, “Correct.”

“So, what else is there? I mean, I know you told me about flowers that mean fealty and like dutifulness to parents, but...what about vengeance or something like that?”

Jihoon pauses for a moment. Soil clings to the fine lines of his fingers, outlining the small loops and curves that make up his fingerprint. He rubs his thumb across his index finger, watching the dirt smudge away. “Petunias.”

“Like the aunt from Harry Potter?”

“Yes, well, kind of.” Jihoon shrugs and pushes the last burial arrangement—now complete—off to the side. “Petunias don’t mean vengeance exactly, more like resentment and disdain. But the negative sentiment is there.”

“Wow. So really like the aunt from Harry Potter,” Soonyoung mumbles, lips pursing in a small pout with each word.

Jihoon laughs again, it’s small, but a bright punched out sound.

“So,” Soonyoung stands up and stretches, lets his limbs fall loosely before picking up his sketch pad and taking slow steps to circle a nearby display. “What else is there?”

Jihoon shrugs, tempted not for the first time to tell Soonyoung to Google it. He doesn’t though. He watches Soonyoung amble his way slowly towards him, head tilting to the side to examine each passing flower. But there’s no real interest in Soonyoung’s search because he doesn’t ever stop, he keeps spiraling towards Jihoon with careful steps.

“What more do you want to know? I think it’s safe to say flowers can represent just about anything.”

“What about...passion?” Soonyoung asks. He’s trailing a fingertip down the petals of a bloodroot flower, thin white petals arching up to meet the delicate touch. The petals quiver when Soonyoung pulls his hand back. He looks at Jihoon, brown eyes liquid and mirthful and a shade darker than inquisitive.

Jihoon swallows. “What type of passion?”

Soonyoung hums, making a large circle around their space, picking up his sketch pad. His thumb runs along the edges of the papers, but he doesn’t look at the strokes of graphite. He stares at Jihoon, a small smile curling the edges of his lips and his dark eyes are warm, seemingly liquid as the spark off the fluorescent lights.

“Let’s keep it simple,” Soonyong says. “I feel like most requests I get for something passionate are pretty simple.”

“So sex?”

“Sex, romance, sensuality.” Soonyoung tightens his meandering circle, drawing closer to Jihoon standing behind his desk. It feels more like a barricade, an object planting firm lines of Jihoon’s side and Soonyoung’s side. “Anything like that will do.” Soonyoung’s voice comes from his left. Jihoon grips the edges of his desk, wondering if he likes where he’s standing behind it. He should. It’s where he always stands; Jihoon is always behind his desk, his meticulously cared for flowers surround him, and anyone who comes in looking for sentiment, for grief, for passion stands firmly on the other side.

Soonyoung circles behind his desk—because he can, because for all the barriers Jihoon establishes in the spaces he occupies, they don’t really exist—then he’s in front of Jihoon. The sketch pad flops onto the countertop, the dull thud of paper whispers between them. Soonyoung leans down and cups his face in his hands, staring up at Jihoon.

“Passion,” Soonyoung reminds him, and Jihoon kind of wants to grab him or punch him or do something. Not because he’s endeared to Soonyoung or the way his glint more than the abundance of silver decorating his ears and lips.

“I can’t talk about passion when you’re simping up at me like that,” Jihoon grunts, but his words don’t carry edges sharp enough to cut or heavy enough to bruise. “You look like a fucked up emoji.”

Eyebrow cocked playfully, Soonyoung’s grins wider, nearly all his teeth on display. “You really think I could be an emoji? We should contact Apple or Samsung. I could be the face of the next smartphone update.”

“I said a fucked up emoji. No one would pay to have your face on their fucking phone. Although,” Jihoon pauses, watching the glint of Soonyoung’s lip ring as his lips settle into something softer but no less amused. “You’d probably be used for memes.”

“Really? You think so?” Soonyoung eyes go comically big and his lower lip trembles. He looks horrible. “Thank you. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

“You said I was meme-worthy.”

“That’s not typically a good thing.”

“How can it not be? I’d complement every conversation, I’d make someone laugh or be left in response to some racist fuck’s deluded rant on Twitter. Doesn’t seem so bad,” Soonyoung says.

A bemused roll of his eyes and the slightest fidgeting with the edge of Soonyoung’s notebook is the best Jihoon can muster in response. He doesn’t have the words to banter back—mind too busy trying to avoid Soonyoung’s tracking gaze than to think of a way to poke holes in Soonyoung’s logic (or lack thereof).

“We still haven’t talked about passion, Jihoon.” Soonyoung leans in closer. At least it seems that way to Jihoon who’s so acutely aware of the taller male occupying the space in front of him. It should be less startling now, having Soonyoung in his shop, in his space, picking his way through his flowers and Jihoon’s mind.

“Red carnations and red tulips,” Jihoon offers. “Azaleas, yellow irises, roses…”

“Red?”

“Pink or coral,” Jihoon breathes. Their eyes are locked and this time he is positive Soonyoung is leaning closer into his space. “You’re not writing any of this down.”

“No,” Soonyoung hums, “I’m not.” He doesn’t break eye contact and Jihoon feels his lungs constrict.

“You’ll ask me about passion again if you don’t,” Jihoon says. There’s a dig about Soonyoung’s goldfish memory on the dip of his tongue, some biting remark to ease the tension building in the air, thickening the air in the air in his lungs.

“Is that so bad—us talking about passion again?” Soonyoung’s smile is a curious thing: lips plump and delicately curved; when earnest, his smiles are wide, piano-toothed things that spread across his cheeks and into his eyes, when sheepish they’re thinned lips curled small and soft at the edges. Then there is this smile, the one Soonyoung is currently wearing, it’s sharper—something contained and just building beneath the surface. Jihoon isn’t sure what it means, doesn’t see it as often as the others, but it makes him feel restless and uneven.

Jihoon breaks their gaze, unwilling to entertain Soonyoung’s sharp smile and talk of passion (even as it relates to flowers). He looks down and focuses on the graphite lines on the thick stock of Soonyoung’s notebook.

“These aren’t flowers.” The dark-gray lines curl out in sensuous curves and delicate angles, some strokes flaring heavier than others.

“They are,” Soonyoung says, voice too close to Jihoon.

“But it’s me too.” The sketch is mostly bare-bone lines; there is enough detail for Jihoon to identify himself standing amongst a plethora of funeral flowers. His workspace is well-defined, the flowers clustering closest to him drawn out in intricate detail. But, so too, are his hands, carefully captured in the picture and further traced out in meticulous lines in the lower right corner of the page.

“Yeah.”

“Why?” Jihoon finally looks up and Soonyoung is close enough for Jihoon to count his eyelashes.

Soonyoung tracks the movement of Jihoon’s hands—the careful passing of thumb over palm and back again, an action both unconscious and self-conscious. “I like watching your hands work.” Soonyoung’s words are a statement, weighted with the simplicity of the fact. The moon pulls the tides. Mountains will give under the weathering of time. The earth is round (fuck the flat earth argument, Jihoon thinks it’s bullshit). Soonyoung likes watching Jihoon’s hands when he works

“That’s weird,” Jihoon says.

“Is it? You have nice hands, they’re graceful but so sure in each movement when you work—a balance of firm and soft, but all deliberate.”

Jihoon stares at his hands. They’re pale and calloused; they have only ever been pale hands marred with the occasional nick or cut due to his work. “I guess so,” the acquiescence comes out slowly as if Jihoon is testing out the weight of  _ actually _ agreeing with Soonyoung, “just never thought of my hands that way.”

Soonyoung shrugs and picks up his pencil to keep drawing. He doesn’t move away, stays contained in Jihoon’s space. Jihoon watches him for a moment, then gets back to the funeral arrangement.

* * *

There’s something about bleeding hearts that Jihoon can’t get enough of. Every May, he starts prepping a display specifically for the deep pink, heart-shaped blooms. This May, the display is accented with lilies-of-the-valley and the more subtle brunnera.

“Those are beautiful,” Soonyoung says. He’s splayed across Jihoon’s work desk in the front room as he has been the past five Sundays; the work desk is an odd collection of wire and snipped stems and sheaves of paper with crumbled edges and fine lines of pencil detailing intimate details of any blossom that catches Soonyoung’s eye.

“They are,” Jihoon agrees, thumb and forefinger rubbing over a bulb, puffy and delicate.

“What do they mean?”

Jihoon pulls another pot off the floor and places it on a lower-tier table. “Depends. In some places, they symbolize heartbreak or rejected love, in others passionate love.”

“They can symbolize both?”

“Yeah, I mean why not. In the west, they more commonly mean passionate love or emotional vulnerability.”

“And here?”

Jihoon stops struggling with one of the last plants. He looks over his shoulder at Soonyoung kicked back lazily behind his desk, arms folded on the tabletop and head resting in the cradle of his arms. “Usually rejected love or heartbreak.”

Soonyoung smiles lazily as if the concept of heartbreak is somewhat amusing to him. “Then why do you sell them?”

“They’re beautiful, even if they’re given to break someone’s heart,” Jihoon shrugs, pulling at his thin t-shirt. He’s worked up a sweat and the cotton fabric is starting to stick to his skin. “I like the duality behind them. Plus, they always sell well, so…”

Soonyoung hums and Jihoon flips back to the last plant, ignoring the way he can still feel Soonyoung’s gaze on him. The last plant is the biggest, the pot heavy with soil and standing nearly two feet tall; it’s taking the prime spot in the center of the tallest tier of the display tables.

When Jihoon was sketching out the display a week ago, the vision was brilliant. But now, as he struggles to lift the heavy plant to the open spot, he realizes that maybe he underestimated the weight of a bleeding heart. Lifting with his thighs, he heaves the plant and only has a moment to register the dull throb of his nipple piercing as the edge of the pot digs into his chest before his shoving into its place.

Pulling away with a hiss, Jihoon rubs at his still tender nipple as it gives a sharp throb. It’s been six weeks and while it’s healing nicely, it’s sensitive as hell. “Shit,” Jihoon gasps, trying to pat the tenderness away.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just rubbed against my piercing is all.”

Metal screeches against the tile as Soonyoung scoots off the barstool he was sitting on. Jihoon doesn’t pay the other much attention, too busy looking down his shirt at his bright red nipple. It looks a bit puffy, not infected, just irritated. Which makes sense, all things considered, as Jihoon has done his very best to touch his nipple only when cleaning it.

“Do you mind if I look at it?”

Jihoon jerks his head up, letting his shirt fall against his chest; even the soft brush of the fabric against his nipple has him wincing. Soonyoung stands in front of him, eyes earnestly fixed on the little barbell visible through Jihoon’s shirt.

“You want to look at my nipple?”

“Well, more so the piercing in your nipple, but, yeah,” Soonyoung shrugs and finally meets Jihoon’s eyes with a small smile, “I want to see your nipple too.”

Jihoon’s hands twitch at his sides. He nods slowly and thankfully doesn’t stutter as he agrees to let Soonyoung see his nipple—well, his piercing, his  _ nipple _ piercing. “Sure. Can we go in the backroom though seeing as the storefront is all window and I don’t want some stranger passing by the shop to see you poking at my nipple.”

“I never said I’d poke your nipple,” Soonyoung teases, but agrees easily enough to head into the back of the store. He sweeps his arm out in a grand gesture for Jihoon to lead the way. Jihoon snorts and curls his lips in distaste at the gesture, but takes the lead into the back room anyway.

The backroom is an excess jungle of plants and flowers, high windows letting in deep orange and magenta light from the evening sun. His worktable in the back is its own minefield of shears, chicken wire, and ribbons; various bowls are filled with individual petals drying out and against the pack wall a long string pulls heavy with clusters of upside-down flowers in various states of drying out. At the edge of the desk is a collection of books where petals are pressed thinner than the pages they rest between.

Jihoon settles against his desk, the tabletop digging into his lower back. Soonyoung follows in at a slower pace, gaze wandering around the room before settling on him.

“Shirt up or off,” Soonyoung instructs, voice a bit more clinical than it had been when they were in the shop proper.

Jihoon shrugs his shirt off, mindful of his nipple still thrumming with sensitivity. He sets his shirt to the side, crumpled against his small tower of books.

Soonyoung draws in close. Once more Jihoon finds himself shirtless in Soonyoung’s company—the other close enough that Jihoon can feel his body heat against his own skin.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” Soonyoung’s breath puffs hot against his skin. Jihoon feels a ripple of goosebumps and can’t stop the twitch of muscle in his stomach at the sensation.

Jihoon’s affirmation is gritted through his teeth. Tilting his head back, stares at the water-stained ceiling and takes a deep breath. His lips thin to invisibility. With the piercing, his nipple is more often than not peaked, hard and tender to the touch. As Soonyoung’s thumb ghosts a brief touch over his peaked nipple, Jihoon tries desperately to convince himself his nipple is tightening solely due to the piercing and the brush of A/C against his bare skin.

Soonyoung rubs the pad of his thumb over Jihoon’s right nipple, a semi-circle that carries just a bit too much pressure to be entirely soothing. The man is in seeming contemplation, which works well for Jihoon. Air is frozen in his lungs, back arching just slightly, pushing further into Soonyoung’s gentle touch.

Soonyoung completes the small back-and-forth motion. His exhale of breath beats against Jihoon’s skin. “It’s healing nicely,” Soonyoung says. The pad of his thumb is motionless but pressing feather-light against the edge of Jihoon’s nipple. “You should be okay to change the piercing out in a few months—I can help with that if you’re not feeling up to it. But, it looks good. You should be okay to play with it too.”

“Play with it?”

“Yeah, you or your partner can play with it.”

“I don’t have a partner.”

“Well, then,” Soonyoung smirks, he rubs his thumb in a small, soothing circle, “ _ you _ can play with it all you want.”

Jihoon's breath hitches. He feels the words on the tip of his tongue, wanting to ask Soonyoung exactly what he means when he says Jihoon can play with his piercing now. But it's obvious, the meaning conveyed in the warm press of Soonyoung’s thumb, the measured breaths falling against Jihoon's sensitive skin.

"I haven't thought about that," Jihoon confesses in the small space between them. "Playing with them."

Soonyoung hums low in his throat, thumb still stroking lazy circles around Jihoon's nipple. "You should. You're more sensitive now, aren't you?"

He is. Soonyoung's hot breath beating against his nipple is enough to have pleasure simmering beneath his skin—his nipple hot and tender to the touch. Jihoon swallows and nods, not trusting himself to voice out his sensitivity.

Things are still between them. Soonyoung peers through choppy bangs, eyes glinting dark as they flick between Jihoon's own blown-out eyes and his parted lips.

"Can I?" The question is spoken softly, petal-soft. The meaning is clear in the slow movements of his thumbs, the path of his eyes, the way he shifts imperceptibly closer—crowding Jihoon further against his workspace.

"You already kinda are."

Soonyoung smirks and rises just a bit to level his mouth near Jihoon's flushed ear. "I haven't even started yet."

Breathing out a laugh, Jihoon nudges his head so they're sharing breath, lips barely brushing with his next words. "Then start."

When Soonyoung kisses him, his lips are curved into a smug smile. His hand abandons post on his teased nipple to cup Jihoon's jaw and angles their heads so their lips slide together smoothly.

Jihoon revels in the feeling of plush lips against his own—takes the initiative to flick his tongue against Soonyoung's piercing, now spit slick and warm against Jihoon’s own lips. Soonyoung groans and presses their lips back together, open-mouthed and seeking more. Jihoon flicks his tongue against Soonyoung's teeth, across the ridge of his mouth, and clutches Soonyoung closer.

They're pressed together—Soonyoung's hand gripping Jihoon's neck and hips and Jihoon pulling on Soonyoung's biceps. Their hips roll together instinctively, both half-hard in their jeans and twin moans vibrating through their kiss. The worn cotton of Soonyoung's shirt rubs against Jihoon's nipple sending sparks of pleasure rolling across his chest.

Soonyoung pulls back only to hoist Jihoon up onto his desk, frantic hands pushing books and flowers aside to make room. Jihoon only has a quick moment to breathe in humid air before Soonyoung's lips are trailing a heat path across the column of his throat.

Jihoon moans, hands smoothing down the front of Soonyoung's shirt. Firm muscles flex under the palm of his hands and Soonyoung sucks harder at his pulse point. When Jihoon slides his hands underneath Soonyoung's shirt, nimble hands pressing to warm skin, Soonyoung bites down.

"Fuck," Jihoon breaths, light-headed as Soonyoung trails nipping kisses with a soothing stroke of his tongue down his neck. His fingers dig into Soonyoung's stomach, short nails catching on the slight definition of abs. "Fuck, off," Jihoon tugs at the hem of Soonyoung's shirt. "Off, off." He wants to see Soonyong's golden skin, see the muscles contracting beneath his fingers, see the crescent shapes he presses into Soonyoung's torso as Soonyoung leaves inky bruises along the line of neck and the spread of his collarbone.

Soonyoung pulls back just enough to pull his shirt off and Jihoon's mouth waters at the expanse of tanned skin and black ink. He presses his palm into the curve of Soonyoung's shoulders, holding the taller man back from his preoccupation with his neck.

"Let me look," Jihoon breathes, tongue swiping past chapping lips. Soonyoung takes care of himself, that much is obvious. He's lithe, developed muscle, stark lines of black in swirling into the snarling visage of a tiger taking over his torso.

Sliding his palms down over the subtle swell of pecs, Jihoon lingers a small moment over Soonyoung's dusky nipples, watches the fluttering of sharp eyes before descending lower. He uses the tips of his finger to trace feather-light touches over the tattoo. Soonyoung groans when Jihoon scooches forward to add his tongue and lips in his exploration.

"Fuck, Jihoon," Soonyoung moans out, voice deep with the beginnings of gravel. His hand buries in Jihoon's hair and slowly guides him back up to his lips.

Their mouths slide together wetly, Jihoon not caring for finesse, just wanting Soonyoung closer. A firm grip jerking him to the edge of the table startles a surprised gasp from Jihoon. Before he can get his bearings, Soonyoung is rolling his hips against him. Their hard cocks brush against each other, and Jihoon throbs, aching and needy.

Soonyoung's hands on his hips encourage each roll of their hips, the delicious rush of friction pairing with the plush lips making a journey out of traversing his neck.

The touch to his nipples shouldn't come as a shock to Jihoon. But the firm circle Soonyoung rubs against Jihoon's left nipple pulls a desperate whimper from his mouth. Soonyoung smirks at the unconscious arch in Jihoon's back, the helpless press in for more attention to his sensitive nipples.

A quick nip to his lower lip is all the warning Jihoon gets before Soonyoung ducks down, mouth pressing wet kisses against his right nipple, left hand still flicking and tugging on his left.

Jihoon's answering moan is high and breathy, embarrassing under different circumstances, but all Jihoon can focus on is the swell of pleasure, the dull ache in his nipples trickles down to his gut. His balls tighten when Soonyoung nips harshly at a peaked bud.

Soonyoung seamlessly switches attention, tongue running a clear path to his swollen left nipple, right hand coming up to tug on the spit-slick right nipple, fingertips flicking at the glistening barbell.

The room is humid, the air heavy and sweetened with the mixing scent of flowers. Jihoon sucks in fragrant lungful after fragrant lungful, a floral bouquet settling clean and bitter on his tongue.

Jihoon hands move with little thought. As Soonyoung works to make Jihoon's chest as inky as his own, Jihoon wedges a hand between them, rubbing at the hard length he can feel in Soonyoung's jeans. Soonyoung's groan rumbles against his skin sending a pang of muted pleasure in his nipple.

Soonyoung's pants are easy to open, at least to Jihoon's determined mind. The relief is palpable between them when Jihoon slips his hand past Soonyoung's underwear to grip his flushed cock. They sigh and Soonyoung surges up, grabbing the back of Jihoon's head to pull him into a sloppy kiss.

The angle is awkward, but it doesn't stop Jihoon from flicking the pad of his thumb over Soonyoung's slit, collecting the leaking precome to ease the way down a bit. He gives a few firm strokes and swallows each of Soonyoung's moans.

Pulling back, Jihoon takes a moment to look at the cock in his hand—flushed a deep red, thick and long and wet at the tip. Jihoon bites his lip, cutting off the whine that bubbles in his throat and rubs at Soonyoung's frenulum.

" _ Fuck _ ," Jihoon whispers, voice shot through with gravel. "You're big and so wet for me."

"Jihoon," Soonyoung groans, voice wavering at his buck into Jihoon's hand. "Fuck, baby, let me—" he cuts himself off and makes a frustration grab for Jihoon pants.

When the air of the backroom hits his now exposed cock, Jihoon shivers. Soonyoung slides a soft stroke up the underside of Jihoon's dick, from base to his wet tip.

"Such a pretty cock," Soonyoung says, paying attention to his leaking head. "Fucking pretty everywhere."

Jihoon moans deep in his throat and wriggles on the table. Soonyoung steps back just enough for Jihoon to fully kick off all of his remaining clothing, letting them flop where they land on the polished checkered floor.

Jihoon is sure he paints an interesting picture. Dark eyes hazy with pleasure, lips red and plump, nipples swollen and wet with spit, hard cock curved heavily towards his stomach. He meets Soonyoung's stare, pupils blown wide, and eyes tacking in Jihoon's open splay.

"Fuck me."

Soonyoung swallows thickly, then once more. His head bobs. Then he's shoving his pants and boxers down his legs, feet clicking together as he toes off his shoes. He falls into Jihoon in a flustered scramble, mouth pressing ardent kisses to his lips, along his jaw, over the arch of his cheek. His hands dig indents into the soft flesh of Jihoon's thighs.

"Do you have lube?"

"Lotion," Jihoon says, distractedly slapping around his desk until his hands land on his lotion—mild and unscented, but does the job for long days spent bending chicken wire and snipping stems. "Do you have a condom?"

Brows furrowed, Soonyoung mutters a quick "one second" before ducking back to rifle through his jeans. He pops back up with a proud "aha!", wide grin in place as he holds up the silver foil packet.

Shoving the piles of supplies and pressed petals out of his way, Jihoon reclines back on his elbows and parts his legs. Soonyoung slips between them with no hesitation, hands smoothing up the inside of pale thighs.

Setting the condom by the jar of lotion, Soonyoung drops to his knees and places an open-mouthed kiss on Jihoon's knees.

The heat of Soonyoung’s mouth travels up Jihoon’s thighs, sucking and biting the soft skin. Jihoon’s legs shake, breathless moans hiccuping out on every breath as Soonyoung’s paints a picture on his skin with his plush lips and the thin press of his lip ring.

Soonyoung's hands run parallel along the outside of Jihoon's thighs, indenting the flesh—not enough to bruise, but enough to be felt, demanding presence of mind. His lips blaze a well-mapped trail to the junction of Jihoon's groin.

The fantasy of Soonyoung lips wrapped around his cock is barely formed before Soonyoung licks a thick stripe from base to tip. There is a pause. Soonyoung looks up at him from between his legs, the head of Jihoon's cock resting on his lower lip, his piercing glints under the fluorescent lights. Then there is nothing but wet heat, plush lips suctioning down with practiced ease.

Jihoon's eyes flutter shut and his head thumps back against the wall behind him. He hears the soft crunch of drying forget-me-nots, is hit with the rich, floral fragrance.

Dimly, Jihoon registers the thumb teasing at his entrance, softening the ring of muscle with gentle presses. Soonyoung pulls back with a wet pop, lips slick with spit and precome. The first press of his finger is accompanied by Soonyoung laving at his balls.

The fall into sensation is immediate and easy. Jihoon's back arches when a second finger is introduced and Soonyoung is focusing on the head of his dick. Each breath brings in the taste of lavender and sage and honeysuckle.

Three fingers in and it's obvious that Soonyoung is avoiding his prostate on purpose. He's layering his lower stomach with sucking kisses, a mimicry of his earlier ministrations.

"Please," Jihoon begs, voice cracked with pleasure, but it's not enough. The slight burn on the stretch, the rhythmic slam of Soonyoung fingers squelching in and out of Jihoon's heat, the tightness in his balls and nipples, and all Jihoon wants is more. "Fuck me, I'm ready, Soonyoung— _ fuck. me. _ "

Jihoon feels Soonyoung's smirk against the bottom of his navel. The other man stands, dick hard and heavy between his thighs. He strokes himself carefully and if Jihoon didn't want to be fucked so badly, he'd beg for a taste. Next time, his mind supplies, as he watches Soonyoung roll the condom on, a light hiss escaping between his teeth.

"Come here," Soonyoung breathes, reverent in his tone, reverent in the way he grips his tights and pulls Jihoon closer to him by. He's reverent when he pushes in, and Jihoon answers with a punched out moan as an offering to the space between them. "Fuck, you're so tight, baby."

Big, Jihoon wants to say, so big. But the words choke in his throat, lose out to the desperate whines. He's full and stretched and he still  _ wants _ . "More. Move."

"Fuck yes," Soonyoung grunts. He eases back, then thrusts in hard and sure.

Soonyoung's pace starts slow and steady, hitting just off the edge of Jihoon's prostate. And then, it's building and building and brutal, and finally, Soonyoung aims for his prostate. A wail is ripped from Jihoon's throat, hands fluttering for purchase on books and stalks and his own skin just so he can be grounded.

He's burning, Jihoon is sure of it. He's burning from the inside out, tight and taught, and he wonders if this is what his flowers feel like when they're left out in the sun for too long—overexposed, sensitive, drowning in heat. Yet, he still reaches for the sun.

He drags Soonyoung down, mouthing at his jaw with no finesse until their lips connect. The kiss is messy and rough and Jihoon cannot think of anything better.

Their lips part with a string of saliva connecting them. Jihoon wants to pull Soonyoung back him, wants to have the other swallow his moans on each deep thrust in. With a wicked smile, as if he knows what Jihoon's yearning for, Soonyoung pulls back.

"Soonyo—" Jihoon's whine breaks off, body pulled to the very edge of the table.

Soonyoung guides his legs over his shoulder, he steadies into a rolling grind, reaching deep inside of Jihoon and applying constant stimulation to his prostate. A hand smooths down his twitching thigh, bypassing his aching and leaking cock, up to his heaving chest. Jihoon knows it's coming before it happens.

His body is a livewire and his pierced nipple like an exposed nerve. Soonyoung flicks it with intention, rubs his nipple without remorse. Jihoon shouts, shuddering away from the touch then arching farther into it—body and mind at odds with too much and not enough.

Soonyoung lets his legs drop, thrust growing rough and erratic. "Going to come?"

"Fuck," Jihoon moans, "Yes, yes, yes!"

"Good boy," Soonyoung croons, rewarding Jihoon with a slow drag of his nail over his nipple. It feels like lightning and tears prick Jihoon's eyes, mouth widening on a silent groan. "Come on, baby, touch yourself. Let me see you come."

Jihoon doesn't take long. Soonyoung is hitting his prostate on every thrust and smoothing over his nipple. Gripping himself, Jihoon gives quick tight jerks, twisting on each upstroke. His stomach is coiling tighter and tighter.

He breathes in sharply. He comes with the taste of Jasmine on his tongue, the scent of sex, and flower clogging his lungs. Soonyoung grinds into him throughout his orgasm; his hands ease down to his hips, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the bone as Jihoon comes down.

"So fucking beautiful when you come," Soonyoung praises. He's slowed to a stop, hands gentle as they run up Jihoon's sides.

Jihoon smiles blearily, mind still soaked in a post-orgasmic haze. He clenches and still feels Soonyoung hard inside of him. "Come."

"Where?"

"Inside."

Soonyoung groans and leans down to lay kisses on every inch of skin his lips can reach. His hips slam into Jihoon, pace reckless and quick, but he avoids Jihoon's prostate, hands still gentling him to avoid overstimulation.

It's easy to ignore the ache settling in, to moan sweetly at each press of Soonyoung's hips into his own. When Soonyoung leans down to capture his lips, Jihoon sucks on his tongue.

Pulling back, Jihoon tugs on Soonyoung's lip ring. "Come for me, please. I want you to come."

Soonyoung's moan is pressed into his lips, slid into his mouth like the flowers Jihoon presses between pages of old botany books. Even through the condom, Jihoon can feel Soonyoung when he comes. He moans as Soonyoung drops further into his embrace, hips thrusting shallowly as he courses through his orgasm.

Things grow still between them. They're a mess of sweat and come and spit and Jihoon is positive he has a scattering of larkspur stuck to his back.

Motion resumes when Soonyoung picks his head up from Jihoon's chest, goofy smile bunching his cheeks and eyes up. Jihoon can't help the twitch of his lips at the sight.

"I'm going to pull out, okay?" Soonyoung waits for Jihoon's answering nod before slipping out slowly. As Soonyoung disposes of his condom, Jihoon cleans up the mess on his stomach with some nearby tissues.

With a sore grunt, Jihoon slowly sits up. Willfully, he tries not to think of the flowers he'll need to throw away or how much Lysol he'll need to sanitize his workspace. Instead, he lets Soonyoung settle back between his legs.

Warm hands cup his cheeks and Soonyoung presses a soft kiss against already kiss swollen lips. "So," Soonyoung drawls, "what do you have in store for me next Sunday?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally done! Thank you to everyone who has patiently waited and support this fic~!
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/CaratCoffee)   
>  [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/blackcatbaby)   
>  [Carrd](https://coffeewrites.carrd.co/)   
> 

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/CaratCoffee)   
>  [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/blackcatbaby)   
> 


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